May 9

A seemingly random ordinary day, however this solitary day holds a whirlwind of symbolism for me, my MayDay.

I will hold this day sacred, thus the details are held sacred as well. Even without sharing this sacredness, I can share the sentiments.

At 52, there are miles and miles of memories; some good, some quite honestly, fucking suck. MayDay holds them both.

Many of my childhood memories are fragmented and splintered. Childhood trauma that swims into adult trauma with a paddle board of PTSD, and the Soul learns to protect itself by shutting down certain memories. While frustrating, I consider it a gift.

There are amazing gifts that the soul provides, even if the logical mind retailiates against them.

While on a work trip to NY, I was told, in an delightfully yet incredibly crude delivery, that I was an “emotional tampon”. Any energy that flows past me, I absorb. My friend and colleague, tossed their head back and cackled, exclaiming “I have never heard a more accurate description of her”. WTF Dude, seriously!? As put-off as I was in that moment, I whole-heartedly agree.

Decades after that NY Revelation, I have made the investment to the explore the depth of this truth. I AM an emotional tampon, aka an Empath. I can feel the anguish of another soul, merely by sharing space with them. Good or bad. It goes beyond a sixth sense, it takes up residency in me. I am still a work in progress as to the shaking off or shedding of their energy, but it is a gift I don’t want to be wholly rid of.

I hurt with you. I rejoice with you. I feel that shady-ass-sideways-glance of the super creep, deep within me. Like physically, bone weary depth. I trust that. Now. A childhood of trust and broken boundaries still haunts me, but I now lean in to that vibration in my gut. Trust it.

Circling back to The MayDay, the cacophony of vibrations that fill a single day.

On any single day…

You might be in a desert place of emotion, please trust there will always be a refuge on the horizon.

Conversely, while on the mountaintop, you can assuredly see the valley that awaits your descent.

While in a circle of people, you can almost count on a Judas in your midst. Take heart, the greatest story in Christianity hinges on Judas.

While betrayal cuts deep, it is necessary to bring about new birth.

I’ve been the Judas, I’ve also been the BirthMother.

My MayDay honors all the facets of my Soul. It’s where my story sings the loudest, it’s where my heart hurts the deepest.

It’s the MayDay of my childhood with a handmade newspaper cone of handpicked violets on my doorstep – it’s the adult MayDay distress call made to anyone listening.

MayDay. MayDay.

Chocolate Chaos Cake

I suck at baking. Ok, perhaps that’s not entirely true. I’m intimidated AF to bake. 😬

My Grandma Hedges was an AH-mazing baker. It was her love language. When she couldn’t sleep, she would bake. I mean like 50-dozen-cookies-bake!🍪

But hey, it’s Christmas, and as if pandemic isolation hasn’t already sent me to a life of stretchy pants and pj’s….

“Let’s make an extra extra dark and decadent flourless chocolate cake” and …

🤬HUGE flippen flop! 

Total freak out, near breakdown moment. 

Pause. Breathe.

In that single moment, you can chose to chuck it in the trash or crumble. 

Instead of chucking-it, I chose to create something new 🌟

may have freaked out, snapped at my husband and then crumbled that f’n cake into pieces. 

A trifle-esque dessert of shredded chocolate chaos cake layered with brandy & vanilla, (real) heavy whipped cream. 

It may not have been what I intended, but it was turned into something new and (dare I say) better than what I had originally planned!!!!

⭐️So here’s my “So What”⭐️ 

❗️Don’t beat yourself up for things you don’t excel at. (Also, don’t beat yourself up for ending a sentence with a preposition) 


❗️It may seem odd to be fearful or anxiety riddled to do something that seems sooooo simple


❗️Take a couple of moments to yourself and simply breathe in the midst of the chaos of the next few days. 


Blessed be y’all! 

Merry Christmas ❤️🎄⭐️

TWO Years

It seems like only yesterday, I can remember the air in the room was instantly sucked out. The words still lingering in the air….

But here we are TWO years later from the day that they initially said the dreaded words…

To mark the day, I wanted to share a chapter from my second book, Facing Fifty. Be sure to read through to the end! ❤


No, I’m not going to sing you the Tim McGraw song (you’re welcome!) but I will dance you through a melody of life and love and illness.

MyLove hadn’t been feeling well; and began doctoring for something that appeared to be relatively uncomplicated; until the newly assigned specialist spoke the words everyone dreads. “This is cancer”. To say we were shocked to our core is an understatement. The doctor stepped out of the room, before the nurse entered the room to inform us of the “what’s next”, they allowed us (me) several minutes to process. I just sobbed uncontrollably.

In the days that followed, we dove headfirst into the diagnostics that would determine the course of “what’s next”, a myriad of tests and scans and probes. In those days, we shared the battle MyLove was facing with those closest to us. We were transparent and didn’t hide our hurts or our fears and especially not our tears.

One particular evening, we were at a local hangout with friends. Often when we are out, I declare a battle with the jukebox and all who dare to play it. (Do they still call them jukeboxes?) I love most music, my life has always had a soundtrack playing in the background.  MyLove also has the love of music and is additionally gifted with a beautiful singing voice, on occasion I can talk him into singing karaoke. Like most karaoke stars, he has a signature song – Desperado by the Eagles. That night, on the jukebox, I played ‘his’ song if only to take him to that place where I know that song glimmers in his eyes and his voice shines. This time was different. This time, the light in his eyes was replaced with tears as he stood up and he took my hand. There, in a crowded bar, we danced like we were the only two people on the planet. Our tears rolled like rivers and we could not have cared less. We were dancing in the fight of his life.

In the weeks to follow, we had big conversations and made BIG decisions. I am weirdly thankful, even in the shittiest of those circumstances. We spoke freely and openly.  We became very selfish with our time together and with whom we shared time. MyLove is very generous with his friendships and I have learned so much from him just in bearing witness to his love of others.

Fast forward a handful of weeks and yet, more probes and hospital visits, we returned to the specialist to receive the “what’s next” news. The doctor said the shocking words… “this is NOT cancer!” While we rejoiced, we learned that MyLove has a manageable, yet incurable auto-response disease. I (honestly) was doubtful and fearful and went into, not Mama-Bear mode, but Barracuda mode. I wanted to strike this doctor and berate her for having done this to my family. The sleepless nights, the fears, the tears and the weeks we lost.

It’s only now, with some time and perspective, can I reflect and exhale deeply…

Yes, we sought a second opinion.

Yes, he is on an effective treatment plan and is doing relatively well.

And yes, I continue to look back on that couple solo-spotlight dancing in a crowded bar. I look back at the conversations and decisions we made for US. We spoke deep love and affection, with gut wrenching honesty. We ventilated the negatives in our life, the duality of the “I love you’s” vs. “fuck off’s”.

And yet, to live like you’re dying should not be squandered on the dying. It is in those moments we are truly living. I’m not sure I have many regrets. Certainly, there are things that I wish had ended differently or the wish that I hadn’t hurt people, as well as a handful I wished I had used a few of those ‘fuck off’s”. To have regret means that you wish it had never happened. I have learned more about light while sitting in the darkness. I have learned about life while looking at death.

It is here where I find my longing, perhaps it is also true of you…To dance more with zero cares of what anyone thinks

♥ To be transparent and open, to not hide away my hurts and fears

♥ To be more protective and selfish with my time and with whom I spend time

♥ To defend and strike with venomous force against anyone and everything that dares to rob our joy

♥ To speak more openly and freely the words of truth and love

♥ And to say ‘fuck off’ a little more often


My Lovelies, I’m gonna be really real and raw here. And before I go any further, this post may be triggering for some.

If you find yourself in crisis (of any kind) please reach out…

I learned today of a former friend, of my former life, was arrested on multiple counts of child sexual assault. As heart sick as I am, I had the moment of doubt…

I know this guy

Can’t possibly be true

Cuz, I know this guy

As I investigated a bit more, link after link began to form a chain. And then, I read a post of one of his victims (then a young boy) from nearly 2 decades ago.

I know this kid

It has to be true.

Cuz, I know this kid

But this is the reality… “Those” guys look like everyone else. There’s no big sign that screams, Predator! There is no wolf disguised as a “grandma” like a fairy tale. They are people we know. The system failed 17 years ago for that young boy, and more victims occurred.

I stayed silent about my own sexual assault at age 10 (not related to this case). I was assaulted by a family member at 13. I always wondered about those that may have been abused after me. The guilt of staying silent has haunted and shaken me for years. I reached out and did the work towards healing. While my wounds are aren’t always scars that have totally healed, some days they are more like scabs that I pick at and reopen.

I say all of this to create solidarity. Not sympathy. This story may find you in your own wounds.

  • I pray for peace for each of us.
  • I pray that your healing comes.
  • I pray that restoration is on its way.
I believe you

I’d like to say that I’m praying for the perpetrator too. I’d like to, I’m just not there yet.